


First Impressions

by essequamvideri24



Category: The Shadow of the Tower, The White Princess (TV), The White Queen (TV), Winter King: Henry VII and the Dawn of Tudor England - Thomas Penn
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 06:43:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9644885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essequamvideri24/pseuds/essequamvideri24
Summary: Just a short of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York meeting for the first time.  Not claiming historical accuracy, just a little idea I had.





	

The expansive and ancient tree overhead provided a cool shade from the late summer bent of the sun. Just beyond the walls Elizabeth could hear the Themes battering its shores in its eternal flow to the sea. A sea she had never seen. 

Between the sound of the breeze ruffling the foliage above, the water licking and pining at the wall, and the rush of Margaret’s Latin, Elizabeth felt lulled half to sleep. She had stopped paying attention ages ago, and was rather enthralled with the world around her. Her time in the recent past spent pent up at Sherrifhutton, bound by the constraints of Richard’s overly-formal court, and her time shuttered away in sanctuary had made her thirst for times like this. Times where she could idle away an afternoon on a bench in the garden and watch the birds swoop, and wheel, and perch, and call. 

She wished she were herself a bird — beholden to no one but herself, her own desires paramount. But she had been born a princess royal. She was beholden to all.

“What are you doing?”

Elizabeth rotated her gaze and dropped her chin to find Margaret looking at her squarely, there was something imperious in the way she asked the question.

Her eyes dropped to her lap as a twinge of guilt plucked at her. “I was watching the birds, my lady.” She admitted.

“The birds?” A solitary brow arched sardonically above her pale gray eyes and she turned to cast a glance at one on a nearby bough. “Yes, I suppose they are rather… interesting.” 

“I apologize. I will attend better to your readings.” 

Margaret opened her mouth as if to say something, but only momentarily, before her lips twisted into a half-grin and she merely shook her head. “I know what it is to watch the world around you and wish your circumstances were other. But we all have a part to play. And play to the best of our ability and the glory of God.”

She knew that Margaret spoke from a plethora of experience, the depth of which Elizabeth could only guess at. Though she had known Margaret Beaufort since her own infancy, she had never learned much of the woman’s history except for the stories circulated about court.

The diminutive woman had been married off to the old king’s half-brother, a heroic and noble Welshman, when she was only 13 and soon after given birth to a son. A son her husband never saw, for he had been slain in battle. Margaret hadn’t seen her son for years, while he had been raised and then exiled to France. In the meantime Margaret had been married twice more, to noblemen, and had later been accepted into Elizabeth’s mother, the Queen’s, household as a lady. 

While she and her mother and siblings had been in sanctuary Margaret had remembered them. But her motives were not strictly altruistic, she needed the might they could curry to buoy her son’s cause — to take the throne of England from Elizabeth’s uncle Richard. And the way to do it was to unite the families. 

And now Elizabeth was beholden not only to Henry Tudor and his Lancastrian cause, but in the light of his victory she was beholden to the entire kingdom, to marry King Henry, as he was now titled.

“Thank you, Lady Beaufort, for reminding me.” She folded her long slender hands in her lap.

“I am happy to advise you and assist you in any way I can.” Elizabeth could almost swear she could detect the slightest softening of the older woman’s features. 

After Henry’s rather unexpected victory at Bosworth, Elizabeth and her sisters had been fetched from where they had been kept by Richard at Sherrifhutton. Elizabeth had been practically exiled there after rumors had begun to circulate that Richard intended to take her as his Queen, following the death of his late wife. She had rather thought she had been all but forgot entirely at the old castle, but sending for her had been one of King Henry’s first orders of business.

But that had been weeks ago and she had still not seen him, though she was established in the home of King Henry’s mother. Coldharbour House was an expansive and well furnished mansion on the north bank of the river, where the two women lived in comfort together. Margaret had accepted Elizabeth as a companion and mentee without reservation, and Elizabeth for her part found some comfort in the woman’s familiar presence.

“My Lady.” An attendant approached and bowed, then nodded at Elizabeth in recognition. These days Elizabeth had no title, but her importance was recognized by all, and so acknowledgements varied. “The King has arrived.”

“Oh, it is about time, is it not?” Margaret clucked herself, before addressing the man. “Yes, well, show him here.”

Elizabeth could already spy his royal personage on some lower terrace, having arrive by barge on the river. Though he bore no crown, there was no mistaking him for Margaret had made a point of showing Elizabeth his portrait on a number of occasions. He was tall, taller than those around him but not much more so. 

Her heart soared in the cage of her chest to beat thunderously against her ribs. Certainly Lady Beaufort could hear it from her close proximity. Elizabeth stood when she saw him near the entrance to the garden, lest she be reproached for informality or inobservance of custom. 

The sun, beginning its initial descent, cast golden beams about the garden and played a halo in the tawny curls of the king’s hair. An illusion, she knew, but an apt one. He was beautifully arrayed in a handsome sea-foam colored robe and heavy gold chain. 

Suddenly she was self-conscious. Elizabeth was merely wearing a simple linen shift, dyed a long since faded pink. Sumptuary laws forbade her from wearing most fine garments, but this was far from the nicest thing she was permitted to wear. What would this king think of her, his intended, dressed only in a shabby old dress, with no jewels to lend anything to her looks. All she had to commend her was her unembellished appearance and her humility.

Lady Beaufort stood as well and Elizabeth lowered her eyes. When she heard his footsteps on the gravel pathway close enough she sank into a curtsey and waited to be acknowledged. 

“Mother.” She could hear him say, his voice deep but not at all loud. 

“May I introduce Miss Elizabeth, King Edward’s eldest daughter and the white rose of York.” Lady Beaufort said, brushing Elizabeth’s shoulder with her hand.

Elizabeth rose.

“Miss Elizabeth.”

She allowed her chin to tilt up just a little so she could see him, her head still half-bowed. “Your grace.”

Up close she found that he was not quite so handsome as Lady Beaufort had lead her to believe, but his countenance and face were quite different from the portrait. There was something in his bearing and liveliness that the portraitist had failed entirely to capture. Something innate which captured her attention. She couldn’t pinpoint just what it was, but there was something about him that was, well, almost charming.

But no sooner had he greeted her than he was wrapping himself in quite a serious conversation with his mother. And though it was a conversation she could easily have followed, and though she recognized some of the names mentioned, she absented herself from the conversation and took a step back. This business was not to do with her, so she lowered her eyes and let her mind wander.

She wondered, self indulgently, what he thought of her? What had he been told of her? Did she meet his expectations? Or had she been a disappointment. She knew her sisters were much prettier than her, perhaps he would have preferred one of them. Elizabeth picked at her nails discreetly. 

They had begun to move along the path now and Elizabeth was at a loss, was she to follow or remain put? Her eyes snapped to Lady Beaufort, certainly the woman would give her some indication of what was expected of her. But they continued down the path further and further and the signal never came.

Well, clearly her presence was not required and it was just as well that she stayed behind. She crept from the shade of the tree and out into the waning light that bathed the garden. Suddenly she had the momentary freedom of which she had dreamed of only minutes ago and she had no idea what to do with it. It was seldom that she found herself unaccompanied and unobligated. 

When she had been a young girl, Cecily, Mary, and she had spent many an afternoon in the gardens at Westminster Palace or Windsor Castle, gathering flowers into bunches or picking at the petals of some blooms. Almost absentmindedly she began plucking flowers from the hedges and beds at random, the gears in her head working marvelously. Who was this new king? She hardly knew. No one seemed to, even Lady Beaufort could only guess at some of his characteristics or habits or manners. He had pledged himself to her in Rennes Cathedral only months ago, and yet he had hardly taken notice of her at their introduction. She could excuse his delay in introduction, as she understood the burdens on a king. But was she really so plain that he could scare spare her an acknowledgement?

It was of no consequence anyhow, what he thought of her. He had made a pledge, a pledge that had in great part garnered men to his cause and allowed him to take the crown. If he cast aside his pledge he could just as easily be cast aside by those who had aided him. After all, their real loyalty was to her family, not to him. If he did not marry her, he would have to marry one of her sisters. Either way Elizabeth would no longer be a bastard held virtual prisoner at the pleasure of her uncle.

She stooped and inspected some handsome foxgloves, the beautiful violet and pink cascades of tubular blossoms were secretly freckled within, making them look almost exotic. Interestedly she edged closer and inhaled.

“Do you fancy yourself a gardener, Miss Elizabeth?”

She froze, and wished that she could disappear. Indeed she must appear a common gardener, here kneeling in a bed of flowers in her plain dress and her hair only trapped up in a net. Gathering her skirt in her hands she stood with as much grace and humility as she could manage. “I apologize, your grace, I was only picking some flowers.” She held up her bunch of flowers as if the statement required proof.

She picked her way through the masses of delicate blooms within the flowerbed to emerge out onto the pathway, somewhat near the king. He was alone, she noticed.

“You need not apologize.” There was a smirk on his lips, not unlike the one his mother wore from time to time. “Mother is within. Since there is still some time yet before supper, mother suggested that I escort you round the garden. Though, I rather think you would be the one showing me about.”

“I would gladly show you about the garden, your grace.” She tucked an unruly lock of hair that had managed to come loose behind one ear. “Pardon my inquiry, but have you never visited Coldharbour House?”

“No, never. It came into my possession under the crown, and I made a gift of it to my mother, but this is my first visit.” He motioned to the pathway, as if inviting her to take the lead. 

It was such a silly pretense on Lady Beaufort’s part, as the garden at the house was on the smaller side and was laid out in a relatively open manner, so there was little to show or reveal. But of course both knew that they owed it to one another to try and get to know the other.

“It is a fitting gift. Your mother is most fond of the house, and, I believe, enjoys being close to court.” She paced slowly down toward the far wall, where there river’s tide had risen and the water was now creeping up to slap lazily at the stone wall.

Henry hesitated, twisting a ring about on his finger, “And are you comfortable here, Lady Elizabeth?” He hastened to mend his own error, “May I call you Lady Elizabeth?”

She blinked in surprise, “You may call me whatever you please, your grace, though I feel I would be remiss if I did not protest that I do not bear any such title that would imply I am a lady.” Careful not to correct the king, she did not wish to mislead him or take on airs by allowing him to call her by any title.

“Oh, but you are certainly not a miss, no blood royal could possibly be called miss.” 

“I must protest that I am no blood royal, under the law of my uncle.” She was dancing a dangerous dance. 

“Well, anything that has been done can be undone.” He glanced at her sidelong, and with earnest. “It shall be undone.”

“My thanks, your grace.” She knew it inured as much to his benefit as it did to hers that he undo that particular law. Elizabeth was no fool, it was all business and politics, nothing more. This was a lesson her mother had been particularly careful to instill in her daughters.

“So,” He began again, “Are you comfortable here.”

“Yes, most comfortable. The home is quite elegant, and your mother is a wonderful hostess. I consider myself most fortunate to be here.” She lifted her bouquet to admire the flowers.

She could feel his eyes on her. “My mother has found you to be an excellent companion. She sings your praises in her every letter to me.”

Her cheeks were warming under his attention. “I must admit that I have detailed her every amiable quality in my letters to my family as well.” She deflected. “It appears Lady Beaufort and I are mutual in our admiration of one another.”

“And since my mother has told me such a great deal of you, I must ask what it is she has told you of me?”

Elizabeth considered the question carefully. “She has shown me your portrait. You are her only child and her proudest accomplishment, I am sure your grace can well imagine that she has told me all that she knows of you.”

“Knowing mother, she has only told you the good things.” He chuckled.

Elizabeth could think of one or two witty replies, but none were appropriate for either a stranger or a king. And Henry was both stranger and king. “And how are you settling into English life, your grace? I understand you spent many years outside of the kingdom.” 

“I find it most agreeable. English court is so much more moral than the French court. And, of course, I am no longer an exile, which I am quite enjoying.”

She fought against the grin that tugged at her lips. “I can only imagine.” Was all she said.

They walked on in a protracted silence. She wanted to know him better, but had not the faintest idea how to converse with him. Moreover, she felt that she should let him lead the conversation as her social superior. He seemed equally lost for conversation. How unfortunate.

Elizabeth trod the path and away from the river, the sun warm on her face. Surveying her surroundings she looked for something to remark upon. “Oh, see what a fantastic view we have of the Tower.” She said at long last, inclining her head in the direction of the massive structure.

“Quite impressive.” He remarked. “All of London is impressive.”

“Are you staying at Westminster Palace.” She asked, already knowing the answer.

Henry bowed his head politely, “Yes, your old home, if I am not mistaken.”

Elizabeth picked a few stems from her bouquet. “As you know the crown owns many fine homes, palaces, and castles. I can claim none of them as my home, though I spent much time in them all.” She glanced up at Henry, hoping that her evasive answer did not displease him too much.

His expression was not unkind, but rather altogether unreadable beyond the tangles of his long hair. “I see.”

“Is your grace enjoying Westminster?”

“Oh yes, it is a palace fitting for a king. Only…”. He trailed off uncertainly.

Without checking her impulses, Elizabeth burst forth with encouragement for him to go on.

“Only, there are so many men about - advisors, courtiers, nobles - you know.” He plucked a flower from a vine sprawled over the surface of the wall beside them.

Confused Elizabeth pressed on, “Is the court too crowded?”

“No, not crowded. It is lacking… diversity, I suppose.” He spun the stem of the flower between his fingers, the blossom’s petals blurred in a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors. “It becomes tedious, these men talking nothing but politics and business all the day long.”

“I am sure Lady Beaufort would gladly see more of you here, if distraction is what you crave.” She suggested, all feigned naivety, rather hoping that Henry could understand that she was not going to make his point for him, though she knew the point he was trying to make.

“I prefer my distractions to be closer to home.”

“Perhaps your grace would consider having arrangements made for music, feasts, sport, or other entertainments.” 

Henry fumbled with the flower for a moment more, then discarded it in the flowerbed beside him. “I was thinking of a more private diversion.”

Elizabeth bit her lip and suspected that was as plain as he would become with the idea. “I have no idea what you mean. But I think you will have come into my uncle’s library if you are fond of reading.”

There was a pause and Henry turned his body to face her. “I am fond of beautiful things.”

Oh, what was this new development? She averted her eyes from his direct gaze, the weight of which felt nearly unbearable. “If you are fond of beautiful things than perhaps we should move up the hill to better see this sunset.” She began to walk past him up the path, but Henry cleared his throat abruptly.

“May I offer you my arm, Lady Elizabeth?” 

She took the proffered arm carefully, her heart quickening at the touch. This man was supposed to become her husband, or at least that had been the agreed to plan. For a moment she let her eyes stray over him while he seemed distracted. His eyes, gray like his mother’s, held more steely resolution and expression than hers, set over the high plains of his cheeks. His strong jaw line yielded to a thin lipped mouth, below a long nose. It was not a conventionally handsome face, but there was something charming in the way his expressions projected over his features, particularly his eyes.

“Your gaze is rather frank for a lady who seems to only impart obtuse and evasive answers.” Henry said at length and Elizabeth turned her face away quickly to hide her embarrassment. It had been a double edged remark.

“I apologize your grace, for-for…. I only meant to-“ The words bubbled forth, the only lifeline she had to possibly save her from her shame. Excuses would not help, neither would explanations. 

“Were you comparing me to my portrait?” His brow rose in inquiry, expectantly.

“No, your grace.” She stammered.

“I have no portrait to compare you to, Lady Elizabeth. I have only the reports of other Englishmen and my mother. I can assure you that your praises were sung by all.” Her embarrassment deepened with every passing sentence. “I was told you were most fair, and modest as well.” He paid the complements in a halting way, which caused her palms to go sweaty and her cheeks to burn. “I have found you fit every description given me.”

“You are too generous, your grace.” She protested quietly.

“It is my… earnest wish… to bring you to court soon.” 

Elizabeth stopped them at the top of the hill and turned so they could see the sunset. “I am your servant, ready and willing to go wither you summon me.” She said as she looked at the sky, the last strips of cloud awash with brilliant pinks, lilacs, butter cup yellows, and fading blues.

“I would prefer to invite you, rather than command you.”

“If you invite me…”. She turned to find his eyes on her, attentive and encouraging, “I will accept. My sole wish is to please you.” Where had the last sentence come from? She fairly felt that he had drawn it out of her depths, depths even she had not dared delve into.

All the same, it had evoked a satisfied grin from him. “Until that day, however, will you permit me to visit you here at Coldharbour?”

It was a strange request from a king, one that took her by surprise. He did not seem at all to be the man her mother had warned her she would marry. And for some reason that only had the effect of setting her more on guard.


End file.
